Got a Problem?
by Marsh of Sleep
Summary: AU. Maka's just trying to get by, but everything keeps pointing her in the same freakin' direction: Towards a weird-looking OLD GUY! Valentine's Day fic, sort of. SoMa, two-parter, Crack. Rated for language, mostly.
1. Part One

Warnings: Completely AU. Crack. Disjointed. Lazy. Rushed editing. Only vaguely related to Valentine's Day. Bad language. SoMa, TsuStar, hints of LizKid, SteinMarie? SteinMedusa? SpiritMedusa? Blatant SteinDessert.

I do not own Soul Eater, Target, Olive Garden, McDonald's, Benihana, Play-Doh, The Chappelle Show, or claim that any legal process described in this fic is accurate and/or realistic- most notably insurance companies and the justice system- and is purely for comedic purposes. I have seen a snapped tie-rod, though.

* * *

**Got a Problem? **  
**Part one**

_Why am I doing this?_

She asks herself this, standing in a very pink and red-garbed grocery aisle, with different brands of chocolate chips in either hand.

She's eighty percent positive that more than just a handful of people would misunderstand her intentions if she gave them Valentine's chocolate. For one, she isn't at an appropriate age for giving people valentines. Two, she isn't romantically interested in any of the people she is planning on giving chocolate to, and will have to suffer the repercussions. Three, she doesn't know jack about cooking in the first place.

But Tsubaki's words, muffled from around the corner of the cubicle wall, had carried a stupid kind of optimistic magic while they'd been sitting in the drab gray of cube farms and beige computer stations. Maka is unable to delete them by any process she knows.

_"Valentine's isn't just about showing love to your boyfriend! It's like a chocolate-themed Thanksgiving! It's about showing your appreciation for everyone you care about."_

It felt like a good idea, at the time.

Then again, at the grocery store, barely escaping death dealt by psychotic women with shopping carts and surrounded by a mob of stressed-out men, Maka wonders if she had temporarily suffered a lapse in sanity at work, earlier.

Her gut sinks at the thought of having to wrestle her way into a check-out line. She's just about to give up on this ridiculous plan, reaching out to put the chocolate back on the shelf, but she feels hungry eyes on her, making her skin crawl. Glancing to the side, she spies a very attractive woman, shopping cart filled with feathery, sheer, questionable ensembles. Her eyes watch her like a hawk.

Maka realizes she's in possession of the last two bags of chocolate chips in the entire aisle.

It's childish stubbornness that's making her put the chocolate into her hand basket. She knows this. She berates herself while simultaneously giving the woman a sheepish grin while fleeing to the crowded check out counters. So what if she doesn't have a boyfriend for Valentine's Day? Who would want to wear frilly, see-through lace just so a man could get his perverted rocks off because sex is expected on a certain day? What a load of bull.

Maka promises to at least make enough Valentine's chocolate to leave at her mother's grave, to make up for her idiotic pride.

* * *

"Tsubakiiii," she pleads into the phone, the lobby attendant giving her a bemused glance.

"I'm so sorry, Maka! I know I said I would help, but I completely forgot! And now I'm going out tonight-"  
"Tell me it's NOT that midget with the stupid hair. I need to hear these words."  
"I kind of like his hair..."  
"Uhhg! He's so obnoxious! Don't complain when he turns out to be a womanizing asshole and that the chocolates you get from me taste awful!"  
"Love you, Maka! I'll make it up to you, I promise!"

After disgruntled goodbyes, Maka hands the phone receiver back to the abnormally muscled- but still somehow benign-looking- man behind the counter. "Thanks, Mr. Barett. Ahh, I guess I ought to head to the library before it closes. Maybe I can find Baking for Dummies or something."

"The library?" The man asks, making a bewildered face. "That's on the other side of town, isn't it? We just got that internet kiosk put in," he gestures to the corner of the lobby, "Why don't you use that instead?"

"Maybe I would some other time, but I spent my extra cash on stupid Valentine's chocolate, and I need the rest of my budget for rent and that oil change I've put off for too-many-thousand miles," she hurriedly explains while wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck and heading out the lobby doors. She calls out, "Don't get robbed while I'm gone!"

"Don't get robbed, yourself!"

* * *

Mr. Barett doesn't have a clue. She may be small, but she knows self-defense and how to walk through someone's kneecaps. Which is what she'll do, she decides, shutting her car door loudly, when she finally catches the attention of the smelly thug in the free parking zone three blocks from the library.

Seriously? She can smell him from five yards away, and she's upwind.

"Ay. Check out Pigtails over there!"

She had thought there were three of them, but she realizes the third figure is the other two's recent victim. She only catches a glimpse of the old man, sagging and coughing against the tailgate of a pickup truck. Smelly hangs back while his scraggly, saggy-pantsed counterpart struts over.

_Well, he has kneecaps too,_ she muses.

"Hey girlee. What grade you in?"

Maka discreetly shifts her weight to the balls of her feet. The library closes in less than an hour, and that old guy probably needs some medical attention. She wishes they'd hurry up so she can get this over with. Smelly gives the old man a kick to the ribs like an afterthought before joining his companion. Scraggly wraps her left tail of hair around his grimy finger.

"Does it matter?" She replies.

Scraggly grins lecherously. "Guess not. Let's spend some _quality_ time together for Valentine's, yeah?"

"Pass," she says blandly.

Scraggly raises a pierced brow, skeptically. "Babe," says Smelly, whose breath is somehow even worse than his body odor, "-we isn't givin' you an option, unner'stand?"

Old Guy in the background mumbles something that sounds a lot like "Leave her alone," but his voice is too hoarse to really understand.

"Don't you two have better people to mug than the _elderly?_ I mean, that's kinda low, isn't it?"

"The elde- what, this guy?" Smelly says, thumbing behind him incredulously. He laughs. "Don't worry 'bout that fag."

"Yeah, don't change the subject," Scraggly sneers, yanking on her hair.

They always go after the pigtails. Every guy has a thing for handlebars. _Sick perverts._ Maka is twisted and pulled forward into Scraggly, but she does as she remembers, bringing up a foot and simply walking forward. She has to guess where his knees are, because his pants are so saggy and misleading, but she guesses correctly- stepping through his knee and feeling the snapping crunch through her worn winter boots.

Scraggly howls painfully into her ear, and he drags her to the ground as he collapses. Smelly is only now just starting to react, having not exactly seen what had happened.

"You fucking bitch! I'll fucking kill you!"

She doesn't exactly remember what happens, herself, in the next twelve seconds, only that muscle memory takes over from hours of self-defense courses, and that her elbows and heels of her hands are tingling and achy once both thugs are grounded. Then she realizes that the old man is standing next to her, hunched over and gingerly rubbing the knuckles of one gloved hand.

"Came to help, though I guess I didn't do all that much."

Maka screams at the top of her lungs.

* * *

"WOAH woah woah. Whoa. Calm down."  
"Y-y-you were like eighty years old a second ago! And _beaten up!"  
_"Of course I wasn't, and they got the jump on me, okay? Can't believe I was saved by a- a- fifth grader or something..."  
"I'm twenty-three, you creep!"  
"What? Seriously?"  
"You're _welcome._ Oh god, you're bleeding..."  
"Ah- oh. No, that's motor oil. I'm fine, really. He just choked me a little and I might have... blacked out or... **man,** this is really lame."  
"You.. You're sure you're okay?"  
"Yeah. Though I'm pissed. And I want my fuckin' wallet back. Not like there's anything in it, but it's the principle of the thing. _**OI.**_ _**Which one of you sleazebags took it?"  
**_

* * *

"You don't have to ..._babysit_ me, you know."  
"Well they busted my cell, and you apparently don't have one- which is the craziest thing I've ever heard, by the way- and I doubt anyone else called the cops. What if they got the jump on you, instead? I don't think they'd just _choke_ you a little, no disrespect or anything."  
"I'm just saying, you look really uncomfortable, here."  
"'Cause it's a _library_. ...I'll get over it. Think of it as a thank-you. What're you doing in this nerd sanctuary anyway? Haven't you ever heard of the internet?"  
"Nerd sanctuary? _'Haven't you ever heard of the~'_ **YES** I've heard of it, jerkwad-"  
"**JERK**wad!"  
"I can't afford a computer, let alone a net connection, so... yeah. And I need to make some stupid cupcakes."  
"...Cupcakes."  
"_Cupcakes._ You got a problem with that?"  
"Just figured you to be a cookie person, is all, ...Cupcake."  
_**"...!"  
**_"Ow! What the hell! What the fuck did you- Baking for Dummies? What kind of lame chick _are_ you?"  
"Shut up! Go away! Go home! Go.._get mugged!"_

* * *

Maka had felt slightly guilty when he stormed out earlier (okay, _really_ guilty), but that old-but-not-old guy had been obnoxious! And creepy! White hair? Really? He hadn't even taken off his archaic, dorky goggles inside the library, and he essentially calls _her_ a nerd!

She doesn't want to admit it to herself, but she glances out the windows of the library in cautious paranoia before she leaves- the agitated librarian locking the doors behind her. Maka doubts those two lowlifes are still nearby, but she had, admittedly, pegged that weird guy as the type to stick around even though he had said he was leaving. However, she sees no sign of him outside. That.. jerk.

Even though she told him to get mugged...

She'd have to leave more cupcakes at her mother's grave. Kami had always tried to convince Maka that not all men were jerks, and here she is, being even more of a jerk to one who had tried to make sure she didn't get raped on the way back to her car.

_Sorry, Mom._

She doubts she'll see him again, (she doubts the events had actually happened, and that the man with strange white hair is actually from this planet) but just in case she does, she promises to thank him, even if he _had_ been irritating enough to make her throw a book at his stupid head.

Maka makes it to her car without incident, though she's violently startled by the sound of an engine roaring to life at the nearest stoplight. In the corner of her eye, as she's opening her car door, she sees a streak of black and orange pass underneath partially burned-out traffic lights. She thinks she sees a hint of pale hair and a lopsided motor oil stain, but she tells herself it's a trick of the twilight.

"Thanks," she murmurs quietly anyway, to her steering wheel.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" Tsubaki asks warily, sitting across from her at the small, business-provided cafe. Her obsidian hair is braided, today, with a thick forelock of fringe constantly falling into her eyes.

"I'm not even sore. I'm fine."  
"Maybe you ought to start carrying mace or-"

"Just tell me how your date went," Maka interjects, sipping from her overused water bottle and rolling her eyes.

Tsubaki slaps her hands flat on the table in excitement. _"HE'S SUCH A GENTLEMAN."_

"Whaaat? That loudmouthed jerk with the snow shovel?"  
"YES. He is! I mean, not a jerk, but a gentleman. He pulled out my chair for me and everything."

Maka shoots her coworker a skeptical look. "And where was this chair?"

"Okay, so it was just Olive Garden, but-"

_J-j-just Olive Garden...!_

Maka's eyes glaze over, thinking about the last time she'd been to an Olive Garden, or a restaurant, or even a McDonald's. She's dismayed that she doesn't remember the last time she'd been _anywhere._

"-But when he's by himself, he's actually kind of shy! It was so adorable and I WANT. **YOU.** TO **MEET HIM."**

Snapping out of her culinary reverie, Maka chokes on her drink. "What? No _way._ You don't need my stamp of approval, Tsubaki. I mean, you know my record with guys.. I'm just going to point out all his flaws, and then you two will fight about it, and then you'll hate me forever, and I don't wanna be the one-"

"He has a hot friend."  
"-to break up your thing with that _monkey- _wait, what? Like I _care!"_

"MAKA pleeeease!" Tsubaki dances around in her chair, squirming with anxiety.

"Please, what? What're you.. no. NO no no NO! I don't want to do any double-dating awkward crap; I know that look on your face."  
"He really wants his friend to find someone special!"

Maka grimaces. "Then he can go to the red-light side of town and find someone on sale."

_"Not that kind of 'special'!"_ Tsubaki hisses, appalled.

"Yeah, whatever." She takes another bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Besides, whatever guy he brings along is gonna take one look at me and bolt right out the door. No one wants to be accused of pedophile charges," she dryly says, mouth full.

Her friend blows the dark forelock out of her face with a scoff. "You're very beautiful, and even more so when you dress to impress!"

"No thanks."  
**"Benihana."**

Maka chokes on another sip of water. She's already done in with the single word, but tries to save some grace. "W-What?"

"Valentine's Day. Already have reservations and everything." Her coworker leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. "And he's paying."

She doesn't remember the last time she had eaten meat. "What time do I need to be ready," she says flatly, all business.

* * *

"'Cream together butter and sugar until'... What the hell do they mean by 'cream'? And how's it any different from 'blend' and 'stir'? _Raawg!"_

It's the day before the Chocolate Reckoning. She glances at the complimentary alarm clock. She only has ten hours until the fourteenth of February, and she had only been successful in destroying her tiny nook of a kitchen. Maka had been working all morning and skipped lunch to tackle the chocolate cupcake challenge, and maybe also to keep busy in attempt to not think about being bribed by food to go on a blind (and double) date the next evening.

Her date better not take a liking to her and expect sexual mischief just because of depraving, commercialized holidays.

...Depraving, commercialized holidays in which she had become suckered into participating out of a combination of Tsubaki's brainwashing and a self-imposed guilt trip, like an _idiot._

_'Show appreciation for everyone you care about!' At this rate, all the people I care about are going to die from food poisoning. Happy Valentine's!_

Though the library had been a gold mine of recipes, Maka had been so preoccupied arguing with That Weird Old Guy two nights ago that she hadn't remembered to grab Baking for Dummies on the way out. She had successfully made batches of runny cupcakes, rock hard cupcakes, and cupcakes so distorted that she doesn't possess a vocabulary extensive enough to describe _that_ particular brand of failure.

With melted chocolate spattered on her good jeans and the majority of her tiny stove, she flops into her droopy director's chair and eyes the cookbook open on the counter next to her. Maka thumbs through the recipes, forlorn.

_Who am I kidding. I'm not cut out for this._

After multiple pages of intimidating concoctions, her eyes are caught by a glossy photo depicting a plate of chocolate cookies with shiny, crimson frosting. Her face contorts into wry amusement. Maybe Obnoxious had been right and she really _is_ more of a cookie person.

The recipe looks easy enough. There are still some terms she's unsure about, but she has enough ingredients after her multiple failures to give it one more shot. Glancing to the picture attached to the skinny, time-worn fridge, she takes comfort and determination from her mother's smiling face.

* * *

She is just finishing icing the last chocolate cookie when someone knocks on the door. "Who is it?" She calls aloud.

"Sid Barett, Maka! You've got a call, downstairs. It's the creepy guy again- I put him on hold."

Creepy guy? For half a second, Maka's heart stops, wondering how the man from Friday night had found out the number of the motel building, but then she regains her senses. Mr. Barett always found _Frank's_ voice creepy. She grabs a handful of finished cookies. She hurriedly flips two deadbolts, slides over the security chain, and opens the door.

"Thanks, Mr. Barett. I'll be there in just a sec. Try these, will you?"

* * *

"Hello?"  
"Maka. Want to do some driving for me? Delivery guy was a no-show."

"Umm..." She's not sure if her car is fit for driving all over town, but Stein's shop is only a few streets from the graveyard. She could give Mom some cookies while she's out. A day early isn't necessarily a bad thing, right?

Besides, the offer of extra cash is too much to pass up. Her real job doesn't schedule her on Sundays. "Sure! Do you need me to stop at the warehouse first or at the shop?"

"Shop. See you in twenty."  
"Alright. Thanks very much!"

And twenty minutes later, as she pulls into Stein's Auto Shop's parking lot and sees an oversized pickup truck peeling out in reverse to violently run over the motorcycle parked behind it with a sickening crunch, Maka accidentally stalls her car. She only vaguely realizes her error when her car's abrupt lurching nearly topples the paper bag of cookies out of the passenger seat. Her arm blindly shoots to the side to save them while she watches the curious events through her windshield.

Mangled and abandoned like inconsequential roadkill, orange metal and twisted chrome shines in the wintry sun and leaks various fluids onto concrete. Less than five yards away from the crime scene, the first garage door in a long line of bays chugs to life. It's surreal, she decides, as she numbly watches a man, dressed in stained mechanic's coveralls and a black bandana over his shock of white hair, impatiently shimmy and slide underneath the opening door and proceed to tear across the parking lot after the truck. The pickup squeals away, rear tires spinning and leaving black trails in its wake. It shoves itself into traffic like an impatient toddler, almost causing a severe wreck before escaping.

Not like Creepy Old Guy could have done anything to a massive automobile if he had caught up to it, but she supposes that 'it's the principle of the thing.' The man stands, furious and panting on the curb, watching the motorcycle's murderer get away without incident. The frigid puffs of his breath seem to accentuate his fury.

Maka shakily gets out of her car, blood singing with the weirdness of coincidence. The air is punctuated by whiffs of burned rubber. She hasn't found her voice yet as the man (maybe young man, she amends, after having seen him sprint like an Olympian across the lot) makes an abrupt one-eighty and storms back into the now fully open garage door he had erupted from. Which is just as well, because she hasn't any idea what she should say.

* * *

"What did you do this time?" Frank asks, openly smoking in his own, non-smoking, establishment. He releases the button on the walkie-talkie, which gives way to noisy, crackled swear words and frustrated noises. "Afternoon, Maka," he says in afterthought.

"_Ididn'tdoadamnthing,fuckingassholesranovermygod-damned-"_

"..Frank," she returns in wary greeting. "Um. What just happened?"

"What I'm trying to find out." Depresses the button again. "Friends of yours?" The middle-aged man with deeply imbedded grease stains around his fingernails and knuckles takes a mellow drag off is cigarette.

"_Five-Two-Zero-FUCKING-Seven-Eight-Zero-Nine, I'mgonnahunthimdownandshovehis**stinking,filthyfrienduphisass-"**_

"What're those numbers about?"  
"License plate, most likely. Repeating so he doesn't forget. There's a box of filters by the door. Northside wants to buy them."

"_-SEVEN-EIGHT-ZERO-NINE-FIVE-TWO-"_

Maka looks away from the big pane of glass behind Frank's cash register counter that gives a view into the long stretch of car lifts and oil pits and a furious man having a mildly-contained fit. She spies the box in question.

"Wait, **Northside?** To that- that... HELLHOLE? Come on, you know I can't stand going there-"  
"Which is why I'm paying you double. Now go, and stop by the warehouse on the way back. Pick up everything on the list."

Maka grimaces at the unperturbed man while he pacifies his mechanic in bored monotone. "Alright, alright, I'll call in the plate." And then, to her in curiosity: "You smell delicious."

"_-itwasabloody__**classic,**__thoseheartless,unculturedSWINE-"_

She finds her eyes already back to the oil-stain-coated exterior of the Weird Old Guy, pacing back and forth like a very trapped and agitated animal. She explains to Frank, distantly, "I ...was making cookies... for Vee-Day."

_"Imean,whothehell__**does**__that? It'snota__sandcastle__,she'sa__**FUCKINGHARLEY-"**_

"Evans. **Evans.** Shut the fuck up and get back to work."

The man named 'Evans' stops short in his pacing, and the constant chatter of his ranting over the walkie-talkie in the older man's hand goes eerily silent for a moment before a distorted sigh is heard. Frank adds, "I can put it back together if you wa-"

"_Hell, no! You'd turn her into a _bus_ or something- don't touch her!"_

Maka watches Evans glare in their general direction through the glass, but he's so far away that distance dilutes its effectiveness. He tosses the walkie-talkie to a cluttered counter top while stomping down the stairs to disappear into a mechanic pit.

"Better get going, Maka. You saved a cookie for me, right?"  
"Uh..."

_Well, Mom hadn't hated Frank as much as she did Papa in the end._

* * *

"Albarn."  
"Snake-face."  
"Surely your father didn't raise you to be so disrespectful."  
"My father _didn't_ raise me. Your bill is four-hundred dollars, even."  
"Chrona."  
"Y-yes, mother?"  
"Bring me the safety deposit box."  
"Um..o-oka- er- ...Yes, mother."  
"Shall I say 'Hi' to Spirit for you? He's taking me out to dinner tomorrow night."  
"Oh would you, please? If you want, I can give Mr. Stein a _big_ kiss for you when I get back to the shop."  
"Here it is, Moth-"  
"Pay Miss Albarn and escort her the hell out of my building, Chrona."

* * *

"You-you probably shouldn't make her so mad, Maka."  
"I'm sorry, but I can't help it. It's too fun! Even if she _is_ your mother."  
"But if she catches me laughing, she makes me rebuild transmissions, and without any help from Rag!"  
"Ahah~ I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Here, take these. I made them today!"  
"W-wh..."  
"For Valentine's Day. Even though it's tomorrow."  
"I.. don't know what to do with this..."  
"You eat it!"  
"But I didn't get you anything!"  
"Then I expect something for my birthday. Make sure you save some for Ragnarok! Bye, Chrona!"  
"Bu-but.. Okay bye! I guess.."

* * *

Maka groans, lifting the heavy carton up to the register counter. "UHG."

"This isn't what I ordered," Stein says, stubbing out his cigarette into a dented soda can.

"That's still in the car. THIS," she pants, indicating the carton, "is Marie's Valentine's Gift to you." She collapses into a plastic chair reserved for waiting customers.

Frank lifts an eyebrow, peering slowly into the container of various pink and red tufts of tissue paper. He doesn't bother revealing its contents, but takes the box in his arms and mumbles "Guess I better put it in the break-room's fridge." Maka's jaw slides open, bewildered. That thing weighs as much as the other box in her car, filled with _engine_ parts.

_What on earth weighs that much, needs refrigeration, and is still considered edible?_

While Frank is away, Maka hears the walkie-talkie crackle loudly behind the counter.

_"Stein."_

She glances to the break-room door that Frank had retreated to. She hears no signs of his return.

_"Oiii, Stein!"_

_To pick up, or not to pick up..._

Not like she has anything intelligent to say, but the weirdness of seeing the strange man named 'Evans' twice in a row begged her curiosity into action.

_"You pimp. If I get in there, and you're eating __**another**__ cake from some broad again, I'm gonna-"_

"It's really a cake?" She asks into the walkie-talkie in her hand. She had nervously grabbed it over the counter, and had ducked behind the obstacle to peek her head just high enough to see Evans look over his shoulder.

_"Uh.. maybe? Who's this? Where's Stein?"  
_"He's in the break room. Eating 'maybe-cake' from Ms. Mjolnir."  
_"__**Marie?**__ Oh Jesus. He's gonna get diabetes. But no, seriously, who __**is**__ this?"_

Frank clears his throat behind her. Maka hopes her finger isn't depressing the talk button as she yelps in fright. She guiltily places the walkie-talkie into Stein's open hand.

"WHO is getting diabetes?"  
_"Err...Certainly not you. Can I close up yet? It's fucking cold in here."_

Maka scoots closer to the door, mouthing to Frank that she's going to get the other box out of her car. The man lights another cigarette, settling into his bar stool behind the register while his mechanic makes hesitant inquiries to his boss's silence.

In the parking lot, she notices the winter sun is already closing in on the horizon. Maka checks her watch; it's a quarter after five. She hasn't eaten anything all day, and is feeling a little weak. However, she only has to bring in this box, get paid, and then could buy groceries at her leisure.

The thought of warm broth and noodles sounds wonderful enough to give her another burst of energy. She wrestles with the heavy container of auto parts, sliding it out of the hatchback of her car and hoists it, arms and legs wobbing, to her shoulder. It's more steady once it's there, and she carefully puts one foot in front of the other on the way to the front door of the shop, thick cardboard digging into her neck.

The box must hide most of her features, she decides, when she hears that gravelly voice again; much more similar to the voice two nights ago than the one she'd been hearing over a walkie-talkie throughout the afternoon. "Wh- hey! Here. Let me- How did you even lift this thing?" The weight is taken off her shoulder, but he turns away to take it into the garage without giving her a second glance.

Her body feels very warm, and she blames it on the heating in the building compared to the frigidity outside. Shuffling to the register counter again, she digs into her back pocket and retrieves the small wad of fifty-dollar bills that Chrona had given her. She places this on the counter.

"Did you give Medusa my regards?"  
"...What regards?"

Frank smiles a secretive smile. "Good." And he peels a two bills from the pile and nudges them towards her.

Maka stares at them like they're a figment of her imagination. "What," she blurts.

"Said I'd pay you double."

She makes a worrisome noise in the back of her throat. "Even so, I only worked for like, two hours!"

"New company policy for gas reimbursement."

She dimly realizes she's sputtering. "B-b-b-"

"That cookie was good, too."

Maka is too dumbfounded to reply, but Evans does for her, popping his head around the doorway leading to the garage, in interest. "Cookies? Are you holding out on me again?" He sends a put-off glare in Frank's direction, and then, noticing her with astonishment, "_Cup__cakes?"_

Her shoulders hunch up defensively. She notes with surprise that his eyes are an odd shade of brown she's never seen before- the slanted light given by sunset making the color a reddish burgundy. She hadn't seen them the other night, hiding behind dark goggles. Nervous, she slightly holds up a hand in greeting. "Hi again."

"Oooh? You made cupcakes too? You didn't tell me," Frank says, blowing smoke in her face. Maka irritatedly waves it away with a hand.

"That's because I didn't _make_ any cupc-"  
"What're you... Are you **stalking** me?"  
"What? No!"

Frank explains mildly, "She's Albarn's daughter. I've known her since she was born."

_"Spirit_ Albarn?" Red-eyes exclaims, dismay clearly written on his face. "That disgu-uhh," Evans tries to cut off his remark, looking to her in mild discomfort at the idea of offending her. She notes with a grim smile the hand he protectively places on his head.

"That disgusting pig?" She finishes for him, looking to the side with a sigh. "Yeah, unfortunately."

"Gross, I'm sorry," but his tone relays sympathy for her, rather than apologetic for his opinion of her father.

Maka turns to back to Frank, displeased. "Are you sure this is fine?" Her hand hovers over the cash in front of her, mind slowly calculating how much food she can stuff in her fridge with this much money, and how she's itching to leave and escape from the calculative gaze of Weird Red-eyes.

"Yeah. But you have to deliver one more thing for me. Actually, two."

Well, surely it'd be worth her lack of hunger for the next month. "Absolutely. What's next?"

"I need you to deliver some of your cookies to Spirit."  
"WHAT."

"Also, I need you to give _this_ guy a ride home." Frank thumbs his finger in Evans's general direction, like a weird variation of the thug from the other night.

This time, Evans exclaims. _**"WHAT?"**_

"Clock out. Your ride is here."

* * *

"So uh.. wait. _This_ is your car? Geeze, I shoulda got a better look at it the other night."

Her driver's side door groans loudly as she opens it. She shoots him a confused look over the peeling, rusty roof. "What? Why?"

"'Cause I would've offered you a ride home. This thing is a death trap!" He exclaims, appalled.

Maka stares at him, offended and incensed. "This _'death trap' _ is going to give you a ride home, got a problem?"

He doesn't say anything- only mildly smiles- which makes the loud clatter of the car's passenger side mirror falling off after he shuts the door that much more apparent. She wills murder to rain on him with a glare. He holds his hands up, innocently. "I didn't even slam it, don't give me that." And he gingerly reopens the door to grab the mirror from the parking lot. He holds it awkwardly in his lap, because he doesn't know what to do with it. The car whines as she shifts into reverse.

"Put on your seat belt," she growls.

Evans huffs, reaching behind him to grab the safety belt. "Not like it's gonna save me," he murmurs.

"**What."  
**_"Nothingggg."_

* * *

"Spirit lives here?"

It's not a mansion or anything, but it is a decent-sized house on the corner lot of a residential area on the good side of town. The yard still looks well kept, even though the grass is brown and half-frozen and the two trees in front are bare and skewering the twilit sky. Maka stops walking abruptly on the path leading to the front door. She hears Evans scuff his shoes to keep from running into her. She turns around to look at him irritatedly.

"Look, can you... wait in the car or something? I doubt this will take long and-"

"No way, Stein told me to make sure you did your job. Plus I think your car-" he looks over his shoulder to the driveway, "is intimidated."

So her death trap looked pathetic and wimpy next to a streamlined luxury vehicle- so what? It only lit the fire in her blood to hurry up and get this over with.

"I'm just saying I don't want it to spontaneously combust while I'm sittin' in it, that's all."  
**"UHG**, fine, just... _don't say anything."_

Maka whirls around and stomps to the front porch, knocking violently on the door with her right hand while her left clenches angrily on the paper bag of what's left of her inventory of cookies. "GIRL SCOUTS," she shouts.

She hears the mechanic shift uncomfortably next to her after twenty seconds of silence.

"Should, uhh, you knock again?"

Her eyes glare at the peep hole in the door. A shadow passes behind it. She remains unanswered. With a growl, she opens up the paper bag, and crouches in front of the mail slot of the door. She meticulously begins to shove each individual cookie into the slot, making sure to smear the deep crimson frosting all over the door like a bloody calling card.

"Happy-"  
_"Woah,_ hey now-"  
"Freakin'-"  
"...that's just a waste of good-"  
"VALENTINE'S DAY!"  
_"Would you quit it?"_

She glowers at the hands gripping her forearms, which drag her backwards and up to a standing position. "I think you won, Albarn." He says half-jokingly, his nervousness at her alarming behavior still evident in his voice.

She thinks she should be more uncomfortable with his hands taking hers and awkwardly wiping excess icing and cookie crumbs on the chest of his stained uniform. She can't find it in herself to care. Looking with a numb gaze at the front door to her father's house, she realizes she'd essentially mutilated all her hard work by shoving it through the mail slot like a Play-doh fun factory. She realizes, belatedly, that she now has no cookies left to offer at her mother's grave. Her shoulders slump, defeated. She hasn't won anything at all.

"Maka," she says, tiredly.

"What?"  
"My name is Maka."

She doesn't like people calling her by her last name.

And then her stomach growls.

* * *

It's at his haughty insistence that they stop at a Subway, once he finds out she hadn't eaten anything since lunch break yesterday with her co-worker. Walking inside, she smells freshly baked bread- the scent soaking into her skin in a sort of euphoria. Her stomach announces its anticipation.

She's never been to a Subway before. There's a long preparation table with two employees standing behind it and looking at them expectantly.

"Can I help you?" One woman says, long blond hair tied up behind her. The other woman behind the make-table, who looks too uncannily similar to the first woman to not be related, says "Oooh, has Pigtails ever eaten here before?"

_Oh, that would be me, wouldn't it,_ Maka thinks belatedly. Somehow, she doesn't feel offended. "Ah, no. I haven't."

Evans, who is peeling off his gloves and stuffing them into a pocket of the coveralls he's still wearing, steps forward from behind her and gives her a bewildered look. "You've never been to a-...? I'm _serious._ What kinda weird chick **are** you?" He shakes his head, and then motions for her to follow him.

"Heya, Soul~" The first woman greets warmly.

_"Liiiz._ How's Crazy?"  
"He's doing better, actually. Painted stripes on the mirror to make his hair look even, but he's stopped trying to organize all the folds in the curtains."

_Soul? What kind of name is..._

Well- her father's name is 'Spirit' so, really, she can't be that surprised. But what kind of person are they talking about? To make the situation even weirder, the smaller version of Liz leans to one side to peer around 'Soul', who is blocking her line of vision, and stares _directly at her._

Maka offers a hesitant smile. The young woman grins in reply, waving excitedly. Maka finds herself waving back. Evans starts to order, and she observes intently, trying to learn the process. Different types of bread. Meat. Cheese. Toasted? No, thanks. Lettuce. Tomato. Bell pepper. Onions. Pickles. Cucumbers. Black olives. Pepperoncinis. Mustard. Guacamole. Salt and Pepper. Make it a meal? Yes please.

"That. Is the most _disgusting_ sandwich I have ever helped prepare."  
"Thanks, Patti."  
"Anytime!"

Evans finishes paying, empty cup in one hand, bag with his sandwich and chips in the other. He gives her an amused look. "Ta-daaa," he deadpans.

"So what'll it be, girly?" The woman named Liz asks her. Maka whips her head to look at her, and then to all the sandwich ingredients gleaming in the bright overhead lights.

"Everything," she breathes.

"What?"  
"I-I want everything!"

* * *

Evans watches her with a peculiar look on his face, idly chewing a potato chip. She gives exactly zero amounts of crap. Maka hums as she eats, overwhelmed with all the flavors and textures and pure deliciousness of fresh food dancing on her tongue.

"You really _haven't_ been here before, have you," he says, amazed.

Maka shakes her head vigorously, chewing. She'd bake cookies for Frank every day if it meant he'd pay her extra and she could eat this smorgasbord. She swallows, and then pops a Cheeto in her mouth. A Cheeto! She'd forgotten how much she loves Cheetos!

"I've never seen someone eat as much as Black Star. I think you might even surpass him, and you're, like, a third his _size."_

She makes a questioning noise, mouth full of sandwich again.

"Don't worry about it. So.. what do you do, anyway?"

Maka swallows, and takes a sip of Sprite to follow it down. "I do data entry and customer support for an automotive insurance company."

"Let me guess- same policies that Spirit sells to our customers."

Maka nods. "He's the top representative. Been friends with Frank since college."

Evans frowns at her, confused. "Why do you work with him? You don't seem to, er.. like him very much."

"Well- ..do you care if I eat and talk? Thanks," she takes another bite, "When I moved out, I wanted nothing to do with him. I didn't want any of his help or money or whatever. But the company was the only place that would hire someone like me without any experience, so I took the position, as much as I hated it." Swallows. "He works in a different department, though, so it's not like I have to look at him."

There's a small silence as she takes another bite.

"He was home, wasn't he."  
"Yep."

She's glad he doesn't ask why her father hadn't opened the front door. Thinking about it makes her sandwich taste bitter. She takes another pull of soda through her straw.

"Soul Eater Evans," he says in his low tenor, hand outstretched and hovering over her mountain of Cheetos.

She eyes his firm-looking palm cautiously. More proof that he wasn't an old man, no matter what she had thought in the beginning. "Soul-what-now?"

"My name."

Maka holds the last bite of her sandwich in mid-air, skeptical. "...'Eater'."

"Got a problem?" He asks, imitating her tone of voice.

She laughs. She wipes her hand on her jeans and shakes his.

* * *

_"Hi, uhh. So, I need to call in a claim. A pair of __**doucheclowns**__ ran over my bike yesterday."_

She nearly falls backwards out of her chair, causing such a ruckus that Tsubaki hesitantly peers over the wall of the cubicle. "Maka?" The young woman whispers. "Are you alright?"

Maka hastily adjusts the earpiece of the phone. "I-I-insurance policy number, please."

An awkward silence, and she hears him idly sniff through the phone. _"...No way. Cupcake?"_

"...Way," she shakily admits to her desk, putting a hand to her forehead.

_"Huh. I'd complain about how you aren't open on Sundays, but uhh if you were, I probably would've had to ride with Stein yesterday, and then I would be dead now."_

"He _does_ cost us a lot of money every time he wrecks," she mumbles into her hand.

"_I'm beginning to think he does it on purpose, for spare parts."_

Tsubaki makes interested hand-motions. Maka covers up the mouthpiece, stifles a snort, and explains she'll talk about it later.

* * *

"Maka. Phone for you downstairs again."

Maka trips while putting on pantyhose. "Ack! Uh! Alright, I'll be down in a second," she says loudly enough for Mr. Barett to hear her through the closed door.

Traffic had been hell. She'd only managed to get home in just enough time to shower, put her hair up in a low, half-assed side tail, and put on the closest thing she has resembling date-worthy clothes before she needs to meet up with Tsubaki at Benihana. She hadn't had time to make more cookies for her mother, and the guilt of that fact simmers in her gut.

She grabs her scant makeup bag and a hand mirror, taking them with her as she thunders down the stairs in hose, pleated skirt, and a somewhat-nice sweater with a wide belt cinching the middle. She's very grateful Mr. Barett doesn't seem to mind that the lobby phone has essentially become her home number. She gives him a questioning look before putting the phone to her ear. He only shrugs in reply.

"Hello? Maka speaking," she greets, out of breath. She balances the receiver between her shoulder and jaw while holding up her hand mirror, hurriedly swiping mascara over a set of eyelashes.

_"Before you call me a stalker, let it be known that Stein gave me the number."_

She almost stabs herself in the eye.

"Wh-wh-"  
_"Look, ugh, this is so __**lame.**__ I forgot about a thing I had to go to tonight until like, literally, an hour ago. I need a ride."_

Maka blinks, temporarily stalled. She then fumbles with the mascara wand, moves the phone to the other shoulder, and begins on the other eye. "I..I'm sorry, but I really don't have time! I'm supposed to meet my friend in half an hour, and I have no idea where my shoes are, and-"

She hears a hissed curse. _"Where're you supposed to go? If it's the same direction, I'll jump out the window while you drive by, if I have to."_

Maka laughs despite herself. "It's in that square of restaurants in front of the mall on Carson Avenue."

_"Yessss! Have I told you you're amazing?"  
_"What? I mean, no, but.. "  
_"That's the same clusterfuck I need to be. C'mon, it's not like I live far, right? I'm five minutes from your place."_

Maka sighs, overwhelmed with the absurdity of the situation. She pops and smacks her lips together with gloss. "Wait, what did you say? Now you know _**where I live?"**_

_"Stein~" _he reminds her.

"UHG. I'm never making him cookies ever again!"  
_"So.. see you in six minutes?"  
_"**Okay,** okay, fine- but no complaining about my car!"

And, instead of handing Mr. Barett the phone, she bends through the lobby window and slams the phone herself. Clearing her face of irritation, she smiles brightly to the man. "Did you like the cookies yesterday?"

"I did, very much, thank you. You're running late."

She hears him laughing through a "Happy Valentines Day!" as she sprints up the stairs to her room.

* * *

"GetingetingetIN!"  
"I am, I am, **I am, **I heard you!"  
"Seatbelt!"  
_"Woah!_ Yeah, okay, Nascar. Wow. You clean up pretty nice."  
"Hah!"  
"No, really. I'm kinda impressed. ...That's yellow. YELLOW LIGHT."  
"No it's not."  
"RED LIGHT!"  
"We're fine, it was pink, don't be a chicken. It's not cool."  
"Not co-**..!** _Hey._ I'm the epitome of cool, you understand? These shoes are so polished, they could reflect the sun and- and- and melt something."  
"Too bad it's seven-thirty and _no one gives a crap."  
_"Oh, **now** you understand what a streetlight is."  
"There's a cop on the corner, I'm not stupid. And, okay, maybe you clean up alright, yourself."  
"Yeah?"  
"Just a little bit. Maybe."  
"Can I get that in writing?"

* * *

She knows something is immediately wrong when she shifts into park and Soul Eater Evans doesn't appear to be in too much of a hurry to exit the vehicle, like he's already reached his destination and doesn't need to dash off into the night to a different building. But he does get out, eventually, and leans down to face her through the open door. "Thanks, I owe you big time," he grins, shutting the door.

But Maka, with her horrifying suspicions becoming harder and harder to overlook, reaches forward and turns off the engine. She sees Soul bend down again in her peripheral, looking worriedly through the passenger window when he hears her engine go silent. She jerkily climbs out of the car and shuts her squealing door. Her heels sound conspicuous on the pavement. Soul raises a confused eyebrow, opening his mouth to ask her something she is afraid to answer correctly. Her mouth presses into a thin line when a male voice cuts into the cold air.

"SOUL. Hah, I thought you ditched, you bastard! Why didn't you answer your cell?"

Pale hair, combed and unhindered by bandana, flits around as his head turns to face the voice. "Asshole. I _told_ you it busted the other night."

_Oh yeah. By thugs._

"Right, whatever. Who's this?"

And blue, blue, _why blue- of all colors under the sun, _hair peeks around her former passenger and spies her grimace.

"Heey, weren't you with Tsubaki the other day? In line at the-"  
"Maka! I was worried you weren't going to make it! What...? Why is...?"

_I should have just stayed home and baked cookies._

Maka sighs, her breath clouding her face. Unenthusiastically, she explains, "This is the mechanic I was telling you about this morning."

Tsubaki's eyes widen. "Ehehe~ ...Hi, again, Soul."

By the tone of Soul's voice, he has suddenly understood what has just happened. "Hey, Tsubaki."

"So uhh," Black Star says, and she physically smacks herself in front of the three people for not recognizing his _blatantly obvious name_ last night at Subway, "-how d'you two know each other already?"

She should have seen this coming from ten-thousand years away.

* * *

And the conclusion tomorrow! ..Sometime. Maybe.


	2. Part Two

Author stuff: Oh, and I don't own the Twilight Zone, or Splenda (gag), or Paul Mitchell, either. The big one-liner I stole the Chappelle Show is in this half.

* * *

**Got a Problem?**  
**Part two**

"I just bummed a ride from my blind date."

Soul Eater Evans looks somewhat like a child whose bed-wetting past has just been revealed to the entire class. He puts a hand up to the bridge of his nose, squinting so hard that it appears his pinching is pulling all corners of his face into one, painful, horrified apex of humiliation. Midget claps him on the back and Tsubaki says something about not wanting to lose the reservation, and Maka finds herself being towed across the parking lot.

"You look really cute," Tsubaki conspiratorially whispers to her as they're being led to a massive teppanyaki table. "Looks familiar, actually... when was the last time you-"

"Career day. In high school," she answers, flatly.

Tsubaki stops short, which makes her date run into her, which makes Soul dodge both them plus a waitress with a frazzled look. Maka slides into a tall bar stool, disgruntled. Her co-worker flutters with apologies before sitting to Maka's left.

She's back to sputtering at her in less than three seconds. **_"!" _**But Maka doesn't answer, because the chef in front of her is twirling knives, which fascinates her. Black Star sits to Tsubaki's left, Soul sits to Maka's right, and cup of soup has just been set before her.

"Happy Valentine's Day," the chef says with a thick accent and a practiced, but not entirely insincere smile.

A few confused orders and a bowl of salad later, she's sipping lightly at some martini she hadn't caught the name of, but involves equal amounts of mangoes and _amazing,_ when Soul flags down their waitress and asks to see the sushi menu. He's flipping through it quietly while Tsubaki bashfully giggles at Midget-face.

Maka leans slightly to the right, "I-is it any good?"

His reddish eyes flit to her, and then back to the lists in his hands. "Sushi?"

"Yeah."  
"Awful. I enjoy torturing myself with things that taste bad."

She pouts and smacks his upper arm, which he rubs gingerly. "You're really abusive."

"You're really a smartass."

He shrugs. "You want some?" Whatever shocked and appalled look she has on her face must be really entertaining, because he chokes down a laugh behind a hand. "Sushi, I'm saying! Sushi."

Her face heats up, and she hopes it's not obvious with the bright light shining over the cook table. Soul tilts the menu in her direction. She tries to keep her eyeballs in her sockets. "Ahaha, wow. Money."

"Pretend I'm paying."

Maka rolls her eyes. "Maybe in another life, but Dork Star is paying for me tonight, apparently. I don't want to, you know, take advantage."

"Why not? I am."  
"Saywah?"  
"I'm a mechanic, c'mon- You think I can afford this kind of thing? I'm not the type of guy to call someone last-minute to get a ride _just for a blind-date,_ either. I came for the food."

She blinks slowly, staring at his mildly sheepish face. "You were bribed," she dumbly states.

"Yep."

Maka takes a good look at Black Star and Tsubaki, who seem to be completely in their own, creepily weird, little world. "He must really want to hook you up with someone."

"Haah?" he says, and she looks back at him curiously. "He said that _she_ wanted _you_ to meet _him_ and then approve of their 'relationship' or whatever. What are you, her dad?"

"No, I-" she starts to deny, but she whips her head to look at Tsubaki in bewilderment. She turns her head away again, rubbing the back of her neck self-consciously. "I didn't know she cared _that_ much about what I thought... Wait, but I've already met him!"

"Didn't you two meet him at a Target or something like that? Does that even count?"  
"I don't.. uhg. Even if this is all true, why did he bribe _you_ here? I didn't need a date to watch them _flirt._ He could have saved himself the money."

Soul shrugs. "I don't know. Like I said, I came for the food. Also, I'm ordering for you, because you're pretty clueless."

She sips her martini loudly while the chef begins to grill two slabs of steak.

* * *

One bite and she's standing out of her chair, hand clamped over her mouth. The flavor could only be described with one word.

_FISH._

She'd known the fact that it was, indeed, raw fish- putting the little slab of flesh resting on a compact rectangle of rice in her mouth- but had believed in, however fleetingly, Soul's theory of 'the only people who don't like raw fish are the ones who never try it'.

_That bastard will never be more wrong in his entire life._

She attempts to turn off whichever sensory systems her brain uses for taste, and texture, and temperature, and nausea, but fails at every turn. Briskly walking to the restroom by the front door, which is a much longer distance than she remembers, she tries to remain graceful and not appear as if she's five seconds away from regurgitating mango juice and ginger salad dressing.

Maka shoulders open the door to the women's bathroom, stumbling into a chilly hallway. She hurries around a corner. Stops. Hides back around the corner. Unconsciously swallows. At the far end of the row of sinks, next to the powered hand-dryer, she'd seen them- black dots and a snake head twirling around a pale, bare arm. The arm had been bent at the elbow, polished nails holding a tube of nude, flesh-colored lipstick.

She kicks herself for being able to imagine the shade on her father's shirt collar so easily.

* * *

She sits straight in her chair, after having fled the restroom, and plasters a calm look on her face. She had known, deep down, that Valentine's Day is just a farce. Why had she believed otherwise? The only couple here with actual potential is Tsubaki and Black Star. Everyone else is either a lie or awkward coincidence.

"I'm _really _sorry. Like, you can punch me, even-"  
"It wasn't so bad once I got it down."  
"Maka, are you okay?"  
"I'm great."  
"Yeah, you look kinda ghost-like."

"Medusa's in the bathroom," she says, cheerfully. And then swigs the rest of her martini.

"Is that code-talk for something?" Black Star asks around a mouth full of steak.

Maka attempts to tune out life- trying to melt and blend into the murmur of sizzling food and small talk. Soul leans forward slightly, to look up in her face. "Medusa? As in **Northside Shop,** Medusa?"

Tsubaki does the same, making her feel like a precariously-balanced book between two incredulous bookends. "As in your _dad's girlfriend,_ Medusa?"

"Woah woah woah, what?" Soul leans forward even more, addressing Tsubaki. "Snake-o-path and Albarn?" Tsubaki nods emphatically in her peripheral.

Black Star looks genuinely concerned, which she notes with a singular brownie point for future reference. "I dunno what's going on, but, is Black Star gonna hafta choke a bitch?"

Maka realizes that the constant murmur of talk is actually coming out of her own mouth. "I don't know why I'm even shocked. Why wouldn't they be here on Valentine's Day? Even if she's just using him to get into Frank's pants. Even if he's just getting friendly so he can sell car insurance. Why _wouldn't_ they be here? The whole forsaken _city_ is here. I bet if we look hard enough, we'll find Frank making out with a seventy-pound cake. I bet _we'll even find those thugs enjoying some fucking yakisoba!"_

A not-eighty-year-old hand is clamped firmly over her mouth. It smells like pickled ginger. "She did this the other day. _Weee..._ should probably go, 'Star. Tsubaki."

"Alright man, don't worry about it."  
"Maka? Call me when you get home, okay?"

She silently promises to apologize to everyone later, when she's not suffering from a cross between homicidal rage and panic attack. Sorry, and thanks.

To Black Star, for trying to make Tsubaki happy by offering to pay for not only Maka, but also bringing his friend along because Tsubaki hadn't wanted her to be lonely.

To Tsubaki, for worrying her, and thinking that Maka's opinion of her date is worth a damn.

To Benihana, for disrupting their leisurely environment and for having amazing food.

To her mother, who didn't get any cookies for Valentine's Day, and for granting her what little self-restraint she has, because she certainly hadn't gotten any from Papa.

And to Soul Eater Evans, for taking care of an almost complete stranger so his friend can enjoy his date on Valentine's Day, and for discreetly leading her away from Spirit Albarn in the parking lot, even though he thinks she doesn't notice.

It only takes him a few tries before he figures out the finer tunings of her car's picky clutch. She's miffed that he doesn't even bother asking if he can drive, but knows that if she brings it up, he'll just play the 'You Had Booze' card, even though that martini probably had the same amount of alcohol content as a tablespoon of vanilla extract (which she has become familiar with, as of late). She sinks more deeply into the passenger seat instead- one of her dress heels knocking into the forgotten side-mirror on the floorboard.

* * *

"This is the right place, right?"

She doesn't know where her mind had been during the drive, but she finds it again, looking up at the lit motel sign, tiredly flashing the weekly amount of her rent payment.

"Yeah."  
"Where do you park?"  
"...Anywhere."

She wonders what he's doing. Wonders why he'd driven to her place, instead of dropping himself off so she could drive home. Her insides suffer from an urgent spasm at the thought of Soul actually being the kind of date that expected sexual mischief on depraving, commercialized holidays. But after she oozes her way out of the passenger door in a combination of embarrassment, guilt, and shame, he only tosses her keys over the roof of her car. She catches them, surprised.

"Uh.."

"Well," he says, scratching the back of his head. "Sorry your date didn't turn out that great."

Unable to look at his face while speaking to him, she scoffs at the motel building. "You're not the one who should apologize," she grits out.

"Nah, shit would have gone down if I had found out _Medusa_ was dating anyone related to me. I'm impressed," he smirks. "Anyway, 'night, Cupcake."

Maka watches, floored, as he turns around and walks away, hands deep in the pockets of his slacks. "W-what are you- It's dark out!"

"It's only a few blocks away, I'll be fine," he shoots over his shoulder, never ceasing his pace.

_No one is this stubbornly chivalrous! It's practically suicidal!_

She cups her hands over her mouth to help her voice carry. "The first time I met you, you were getting mugged!"

Faintly, she hears his annoyed voice. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Wait! Soul?" She calls out, in desperation for a reason she does not understand. He stops, pivots around on one foot, and cocks his head to the side, expectantly. "H-how old are you, anyway?"

_What kind of stupid question is-_

He smiles, slowly walking backwards. "Eighty!" Soul laughs, frozen breath lit brightly by street lights.

She huffs, "No, _really!"_

"Got a problem?" Maka makes a frustrated whine. Walking a few more steps, chuckling, he gives her an answer. "Come get your oil changed! Your death trap needs it!" And he turns around with a lazy wave, crossing the street to disappear into the night.

Maka stands by her car, the cold winter air numbing her hose-covered legs and worming its way through her sweater. Her heart thumps forcefully.

* * *

She knows he knows she's tailing him in her car. It has a squeaky engine belt and can be heard from half a mile away- he's complained about it enough. He doesn't turn around. Soul merely continues to casually stroll to the recently renovated apartment complex that she's been to twice before. She watches him walk up three flights of stairs. Watches the light behind closed vertical blinds turn on. Smiles to herself when, like a silent challenge, the blinds do not part open.

_What a dork._

And, instead of going back to her little weekly-rented suite, she goes to the grocery store.

* * *

"What's this about?"  
"An apology. For running out last night."  
"Apology? Maka, you don't have to be sorry for anything- it's completely understandable that you didn't want to be there-"  
"Then a belated Valentine's gift."  
"Wh.. thank you. But wait, more importantly, are you okay? You didn't call me or anything, so I was worried!"  
"Ah I'm fine! Sorry. I forgot to call. Soul took me home."  
"Didn't you drive him?"  
"Yeah, but- Ack! Hello, Maka Albarn speaking, how can I help you?"  
"...These are really good."  
"-Can you hold for one second, please? Thank you. Hey, uh... by the way. Black Star's alright."  
"Really? You mean it?"  
"...Not all guys are jerks. Maybe. My apologies, thank you for holding!"

* * *

She's tired- she probably shouldn't have stayed up so late baking cookies- but she feels content with herself, and decides that's okay. The bed squeaks as she flops into it, her toes wiggling until her shoes pop off her heels and fall to the floor.

Her room still smells like chocolate.

"_Come get your oil changed!"_

She wants to. Never mind that she needs to, for her little Deathtrap's sake, but she wants to see him again. She's unused to this feeling. Tilting her head to the side, she lifts her face off the mattress slightly to see her clock, even though there's a watch on her wrist. By now, the shop is closed, already. She lets her head fall back down, unceremoniously. She doesn't have enough time after work to drive across town before Frank's shop closes, and her next day off isn't until Sunday.

She wonders how he's getting to and fro without a vehicle.

...What if he hasn't gone to work because he doesn't want to bother her with driving him around everywhere? What if, in reality, last night's weirdness had put him off and now he wants nothing to do with her? What if he hadn't looked over his shoulder because he was creeped out while _she was stalking him?_

Maka groans, horrified, into the bedspread, her feet kicking behind her.

_GET A GRIP. You've only known that weirdo for four days!_

She jumps to her feet when there's a knock at the door. "Who.. who is it?" She asks, nerves tingling.

"Sid Barett, Maka. Phone's for you."

Her heart sinks. She mentally kicks herself. Then, her heart starts floating again, despite herself. Opens the door, which complains loudly because she's forgotten to take off the chain. Shuts the door, slides chain over, opens door, and takes the stairs two at a time, passing Mr. Barett in the lobby.

"Thanks Mr. Barett, sorry to make you take the stairs so much, hello, Maka speaking!"  
"_Miss Albarn?"_

A woman's voice. Her world trips and crashes to a halt. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"_This is detective Nygus, is this a bad time?"_

* * *

As she's pulling into the police department, she finds him sitting, bored, on a bench outside. She jogs to him across the parking lot.

"What're you doing here?" She puffs, nose and lips already feeling numb from the icy air.

He yawns. He's back in his work uniform, new splotches of dark black having bloomed on his chest since the last time she'd seen him in it. "Same reason you're here, I imagine. Go ahead. I'll wait for ya."

"Uh.. okay." She offers an unsure, half-smile, and walks up the steps to pull open the door by its cold, metal handle.

Through a lot of confusion and introductions, she's in a narrow room with no where to sit while a dark-skinned woman with striking eyes holds a clip board. She stands straight, but not stiffly, and faces a long pane of glass while addressing her.

"Can you describe, to me, what happened on the night of the eleventh?"

"Buhh-" she blurts out, taken aback. "What day was that? Friday? OH. Oh."

_So that's what this is about._ She hopes those two thugs aren't doing something troublesome like pressing assault charges against her- even though they started it and she happened to crack someone's nose. "Well, I came home from work, and decided to go to the library-"

"Which one?"

"Um, the one on West and Seventh. But I parked at the free lot down the street from there, because I suck at parallel parking. Anyway, uh, these two men were huddled around another guy- one was choking him and the other was kicking-"

Kicking. Her breath catches in her throat. She remembers, suddenly, how Smelly had been shoving his foot into Soul's chest. She remembers Soul's slight cringe and hiss after she had half-heartedly smacked him on the arm at the restaurant last night.

"Miss Albarn?"  
"Ah- yes. Sorry."

She explains the rest of the scuffle to the best of her memory, and realizes, finally, that this isn't an interrogation room. A bright light switches on behind the glass, and she squints, shielding her eyes. A line up of questionable individuals are led into the room, to stand on a small platform.

"And can you identify either of the assailants from this group of ..._fine _gentleman?"

With a degree of satisfaction, she notes that Scraggly is in a leg-brace and Smelly has a bandaged nose.

* * *

"So, how'd it go- WOAH. Hey what're you doing?"  
"It really is motor oil."  
"Well yeah, what else would it be?"  
"Blood."  
"_Blood?"  
_"How badly did they hurt you, the other night?"  
"What? I'm fine... We've had this conversation, haven't we? _Don't wipe it on your-_ here. Use my sleeve, birdbrain."  
"Then what's _this?"  
_"_OW, _Jesus! Watch it!"  
"You're a liar."  
"And you're abusive."  
"Why didn't you **tell** me?"  
"Tell you what? That I have a few bruises? Whoopdee-freakin'-do. Hey. Heeey. Come on, we were complete strangers. What difference would it've made? Would you've put a band-aid on it? Kissed and made it better?"  
"...I don't kiss old guys."  
"I'm _not_ old!"  
"Then what's with the hair?"  
"I dunno, what's with your _chest?_ OW, **OW,** ow, ow, ow. Geeeeze!"

* * *

"You _walked _here?"  
"Well, yeah. It's not far from the shop."  
"How did you get to the shop?"  
"Stein's been picking me up. Don't look at me like that- I didn't wanna bug you. I know you have a job, and it's **not** to be my taxi driver. So lame."  
"...What were you planning to do after you were done here?"  
"Call Stein again. But I chickened out. I'm not really that suicidal. I was debating on calling Black Star and dealing with his constant mockery, and then you pull up... The end."  
"Huh."  
"Yeah, weird. I know it's kinda late, but, have you eaten, yet?"  
"I... probably shouldn't spend any more money for a while."  
"Me neither. I have pizza in the fridge at home, though."

* * *

She wakes up on his couch at the numbing hour of three in the morning. She'd passed out, stretched along soft cushions, in front of an aquarium. She remembers having a sleepy conversation with him, accusing him of being demented for keeping pet fish and then eating their cousins raw.

There's a jacket on her. It smells like auto shop and boy deodorant.

Sitting up, the couch upholstery creaking loudly under her hands, she strains for any sounds of Soul Eater Evans. The aquarium pump gurgles happily, accompanied by the hum of its motor. The furnace kicks on.

Maka sneaks around in the dark, trying to remember where she'd put her shoes. Finding them, she decides that putting them on and walking around on the wooden floors would be a bad idea, so she carries them around in one hand until she finds her coat and scarf. The lining against her blouse crackles with static as she slides each arm into a coat sleeve. More fragments of conversation float to the surface of the permeating silence of the apartment.

"_So, how __**do **__you know Tsuabki?"  
_"_Happened to see Black Star with her at a gas station. It was Friday night, actually. They were headed to dinner or something."  
_"_What? Then.. what were you doing when you got jumped?"  
_"_I.. okay, you can't tell __**anyone.**__ So not cool- I was returning books to the nerd sanctuary."  
_"_..."  
_"_Quit laughing."  
_"_Haven't you ever heard of the internet?"  
_"_I couldn't find what I needed, alright? The library had stuff on modifying Harleys so...shut up, it's- uhg, I knew I shouldn't have told you."_

She snorts aloud at the memory. Belatedly slaps a hand over her mouth. Opens the front door. She can't flip the deadbolt behind her- she hopes that the lock in the doorknob will be sufficient for the rest of the night, and that he isn't robbed before he wakes up. She also hopes he doesn't find the tiny 'Thank-You' she's written on the napkin she'd used as a make-shift coaster until much, much later, preferably never; long after time has diluted her bashful embarrassment of falling asleep in his apartment like a helpless puppy into something more mentally manageable.

She slips her shoes on long enough to make it down multiple stairs, and takes them back off once she's in the car. It's a pain to shift gears with heels on.

Mr. Barett is also asleep at his lobby station, she sees, glancing through the glass door once she arrives back home. She softly swipes her card key to get in to the building and sneaks up the stairs, shoes held in her hand once more. She hopes he hadn't been worried about her, as he is wont to do.

* * *

She doesn't complain about work keeping her away from the shop, as much as her irritated fingers drum incessantly at her desk every day, every hour, every second until work is over. But she _is_ preoccupied, she admits, when she's home and digging in her fridge on Friday night for some jelly and remembers what's in the brown paper sack on the top shelf.

"OH MY GOD," she exclaims, biting into an old cookie. She may as well have bitten into a concrete wall. But, she finds, as she tests the next cookie in the pile, that the further she digs, the more acceptable they become.

She chants guilty apologies to her mother while she puts her shoes back on, salvaged cookies in hand.

In the lobby, Sid Barett curiously asks,"Where are you off to, now?"

"Gonna go see Mom! I'll be back soon! Oh-" Maka halts suddenly, halfway out the front door of the building. "If..if anyone calls- Ahg, never mind. Bye, Mr. Barett!"

She's not expecting any calls. No one had called for her since the police department had wanted to see her. She doesn't want to admit that it's made her a little depressed.

Shaking her head and trying to force herself to be a bit more cheery, she's determined to not bring any negative feelings when going to visit her mother as she drives to the other side of town. She attempts to keep her mind on things not related to Weird Old Guys. She tries to stay focused, tries not to not notice the lights on in the first garage bay at Stein's Auto Shop, tries to resist pulling into the empty parking lot out of curiosity, and fails everything.

The front door is locked, so she cautiously walks to the end of the garage, pulling her scarf a little tighter to keep her face warm in the chill air. She's too short, she realizes, to look into the windows at the top of the garage door.

Maka asks herself many things, as her hand comes out of her coat pocket. She asks why she's here, why she's bothering, why she hopes that it's him on the other side, why she can't get the smell of his coat out of her head, and why she's so adamant at making sure he's the proof that not all guys are jerks. Her hand, in a loose fist, is poised to gently rap on the massive door when she hears his voice.

"_Are you gonna knock, or what?"_

She freezes, trying to remember how to breathe. Looking up, mortified, she finds him smirking at her, looking down through one of the windows above. He waggles his fingers at her. Her shoulders slump as she glares at him. He seemingly jumps off whatever he'd been standing on, for his head falls from her line of sight. With a loud snap of a lock and a cacophony of echoing metal, the bay door slowly begins to lift open, revealing dirty shoes, the stained legs of a mechanic's coveralls, and his sideways face- because he's bending over impatiently to look at her underneath the rising door.

"Hey."  
"Hi."  
"Heard your death trap. How'd you know I'd be here?"  
"I- I didn't. I was headed to the cemetery..."

"Cemetery?" He questions, gesturing her inside so he can close the door.

She walks in, taking in the smells. Once her eyes focus in the bright lights, she recognizes the shining form in front of her. It's his bike. Well, most of it. She stares at it, unbelievingly. The last time she had seen it, it had been a statuesque mass of chrome carnage. The garage door grinds shut while she takes in how much work he had put into the motorcycle.

"You did this?" She asks, dumbly.

"Yeah. Insurance paid enough to cover the cost of a newer one, but I have a problem with letting things go, you know? Figured I'd replace what I couldn't fix."

"Okay, I'll admit it," she says, turning to him. "I'm impressed. This is really cool."

And then, curiously, she watches his cheeks faintly become pink. "Y-yeah? Well... I don't know if that's a good thing, coming from a nerd."

"Says the guy who sneaks to the library at night." She snickers at his pathetic attempt at brushing off her compliment.

"Not like those books helped. I hadn't been looking for complete rebuild advice at the time," He pouts, uncomfortable, and rubs his hand on the side of his neck and jaw.

"Stop that-" she laughs, grabbing his forearm. "You're getting gunk all over your face!"

"What- aww. Damn. Well, that's not really new, anyhow." He turns away, walking towards a sink that might have been white, once. She stifles a few giggles, and then notices a cot and a canvas bag with socks being spit from it like a disgusted monster.

"Have you been _sleeping_ here?"

He distractedly looks over his shoulder, evidently washing his hands. "What? Uh.. Maybe? Why?"

"It's cold in here! You could get sick or something," she exclaims, appalled.

Soul gives her a blank look, wiping his neck with a wet paper towel, which only further smears whatever he had plastered on himself. "But I'm not sick. Besides, this is easier. I don't have to ride with Stein, and I can work on **her** when I'm off the clock."

She realizes her mouth is open, but she has nothing eloquent to say.

"I have a heater, now," he offers, pointing at something that looks like a cannon on a car jack as he walks forward to her. "It's really not that bad. It's not like I can go anywhere without my bike, anyway."

Maka sighs. Takes a deep breath to lecture him. Ends up sighing again. "Where is your _mother?" _She remarks. He only scoffs, continuing to wipe his neck.

"You want the job? Though you're already Tsubaki's overprotective father."  
"Give me that, you're terrible at this."  
"Yes, mother~"

She studiously ignores his little smile as she takes the paper towel and cleans the side of his neck that his coveralls expose. She absolutely doesn't acknowledge the way his hands just barely graze the fabric of her coat as she dabs at his jaw.

"So what's this about the cemetery? Should you be going there, you know, at night? Alone?"

* * *

Apart from Valentine's day, she hadn't seen him in anything but oil-covered coveralls. Now, seeing him in jeans and a leather jacket, the bag of cookies in his lap, it seems she's fallen into the Twilight Zone- like she hadn't been almost-stalking him, and he hadn't memorized the sound of her car, and that they were just normal people, on a date, going to meet her mother.

"These smell really good."  
"Touch them and die. They're for Mom."  
"...While I respect that, I'm irked that Stein got a cookie. _And_ your old man's front door."

She laughs. "Is that a request I'm hearing?" Soul remains silent but for a casual sniff and playful huff.

When she parks at the cemetery, he hands her the bag. He gets out of the car, but doesn't follow her. Soul simply leans on the passenger door, respectfully keeping his distance as she walks the path she knows so well. A part of her wants him to come with her, but the other part is grateful.

She makes a little pyramid of cookies at the headstone.

* * *

"_Hi, mom."  
_"..."  
"_Sorry these are so late. I've been sidetracked. I hope you'll forgive me."  
_"..."  
"_I almost have enough saved to start school again! In a few months, I'll be enrolling."  
_"..."  
"_Frank's been doing good. Still smoking, but he seems happy, I think. I'm worried about how much sugar he eats. Maybe the next time I make cookies, I'll make them with Splenda. I'd hate to be the last straw that broke the diabetic's back."  
_"..."  
"_I don't know if you can do anything where you are, but if it's at all possible, see if Sid Barett can find a nice woman. Or __**man,**__ oh my, I didn't even think of that. Well, a nice __**somebody**__. He works too much, I think. And I think he'd make a good dad."  
_"..."  
"_Speaking of dads, Dad's still avoiding me. I know I'm not really helping the situation- it's so hard to not get angry every time I think about him. I kind of had an unsightly moment at Benihana the other night, but I'll try harder."  
_"..."  
"_I know last time I had mentioned Tsubaki being really depressed about her last break-up, but now she seems to be a lot happier with this new guy, even if it's only been a week. If you, or anyone Else had something to do with that, thank you."  
_"..."  
"_Also, there's this weird guy... he's by my car right now. He's here because he doesn't want me to be by myself at night. He's kind of a dork, and rude, but he's also really nice sometimes."  
_"..."  
"_It seems like I keep running into him everywhere, and it's hard to just throw it all to chance, no matter what my common sense is telling me. I.. I'm not sure what to think. Or do."  
_"..."  
"_His name is Soul. What kind of name is that, right? I accidentally saved him (sort of) when I was on the way to the library, to learn how to... make you..."  
_"..."  
"_...cupcakes..."  
_"..."  
"_...for Valentine's Day."  
_**"****..."**

* * *

Maka thinks whatever fleeting epiphany she had at Kami Albarn's headstone has already left her the moment she stands and turns around to head back to the car, swallowing a lump in her throat that she isn't sure how had come to be.

But when Soul Eater Evans leans on the side of her car in a semblance of laziness and says, "Ready to go, Cupcake?" she finds herself smiling, wiping a stray tear that he doesn't seem too surprised to see.

Her other hand tightly grips the empty paper bag as her blood sings with the repeated weirdness of coincidence. "Mmm. Let's go."

* * *

"Hey uh, wait."  
"Yeah?"  
"I need you to do me a huge favor, if you can."  
"What's this?"  
"My apartment key."  
"...U-u-um?"  
"I haven't been there in a while, and, well- ...The fish."

* * *

It's not until she puts her coat on to go to work the next morning that she realizes he'd slipped something into her pocket the night before. The familiar feel of scratchy-paper-towel at her fingertips stops her dead in her tracks, her car keys (which are very marginally heavier, and she thinks she's way too aware of this fact) dangling noisily in the air in a frozen hand. Lifts the paper out of her pocket. Nudges her thumb through the fold, opening the crease.

In fuzzy permanent marker that had bled as he had scrawled it:

_**sunday  
**__**clusterfuck parking lot  
**__**6pm  
**__**please?**_

And she's a mess of anxiety and hysteria, the day blurring together in an abstract painting of sweaty palms and self-consciousness, until she can blurt it all out to Tsubaki at lunch.

"He gave you his key?"  
"For the fish."

"Riiight." The young woman tilts her head at the evidence in her hand. "Cluster-_what?_"

"_And_ he wants cookies!"  
"Well, you better start baking!"

"What am I gonna wear! Oh my god, I just really said that," she puts a hand to her head, appalled.

Tsubaki grins widely, enjoying herself. She spins re-heated spaghetti on her plastic fork. "Just wear what you wore on Monday."

Maka looks at her with worry. "Is that legal?"

"I really don't think he's dating you for your outfit."  
"D-d-dating!"

"That's what this is, isn't it?" Tsubaki says, waving the scrap of paper towel around. "And that's why he forked over his apartment key, and that's why you're blushing, and that's why you're worried about what he thinks you'll look like, and that's why _I'm coming over tomorrow to __**do your hair."**_

* * *

Her hands are shaking.

_Why am I doing this?_

She grips her steering wheel a little tighter, glancing at her reflection in the remaining side mirror of Deathtrap. Her hair is styled and loosely curled, smelling like she'd been dunked in the heavenly, Paul Mitchell fountain of botanical-scented youth.

A dozen of freshly baked cookies sits in the seat next to her, recently iced. They had still been wet when she left for Carson Avenue, so they sit, precariously, on an open paper plate. In effort to not make them fly off the seat, she drives like a terrified grandmother. More than a handful of people have passed her to get around her_ slow ass._

To save some face, she turns on an unpopulated side road, to avoid pissing off more people in traffic. She keeps having to remember to breathe. Why is she so hyped up over this? She hadn't been this freaked out when she went on that blind date- even after she had arrived and found out it was with **him! **

_Maybe it's because neither of us are attending for the __food__ this time._

It's after this thought when she hears a loud _CRACK, _and she looses all control of her steering wheel. She hits the brakes, but it's too late- her car already swerving violently to the right and a tire catching in the ditch just outside the shoulder. Somewhere through the haze of panic and confusion, as the whole world swings up and sideways, she imagines a cartoon version of her car tripping over untied shoelaces and cart-wheeling into a hole. She also thinks she should have gotten that oil change- maybe even glued the side mirror back on, somehow, to appease her car and all the ridicule and abuse it had received the past week.

Deathtrap comes to rest with an anticlimactic sigh on its left side, in the ditch.

Maka sits numbly in her seat, her weight resting on her left shoulder and hip, head tilted toward the ground. The car is still running. Her headlights are still on, and they shine into thick brush, which is much easier to see because her windshield had shattered at some point.

_This. This is not happening. This did not just happen. _

Her _airbag_ hadn't even gone off, for crying out loud!

Body resonating with adrenaline and disbelief, Maka turns off the ignition, undoes her seat belt, and wraps her head around the idea of standing on the driver's side door. She realizes the car smells like gasoline and cookies, and decides that she should probably find her wallet and figure a way out of her car before it lives up to its nickname.

She stuffs her keys into her clutch that contains her meager cash, hotel key card, and driver's license into the belt around the outside of her cookie-splattered sweater, and reaches up to manually roll down the passenger window. It groans, but it still works, and she executes an awkward and ridiculous rock-climbing impersonation by putting her feet on armrest, car seat, and slippery dashboard with high heels on.

Maka slips while halfway out the passenger window, sweating palms squeaking along the door as she kicks her feet around for a better foothold. Irritated and grunting, she toes her shoes off to satisfyingly thunk inside the car, abandoned. Unhindered, she makes it out the window and sits on the door, wondering how to get down. Ungracefully shimmying closer to the engine, she uses an alarmingly crooked tire to step on and hop lightly to the shoulder of the road. Gravel digs into her feet, but she doesn't spend much time thinking about it.

She pats her waist for her wallet. Still there. Off-handedly realizes that she'd left her headlights on. Looks at her surroundings. Traffic in the distance, a few miles away, on the street she had turned off from. Water tower in unkempt field to her left. Car, in ditch, and a brick wall surrounding a residential area to the right. Curious girl, in bedroom window, in the house directly across from her car on the other side of the privacy wall.

She waves at her. Maka waves back. A woman enters the window, peers down, and disappears.

* * *

Actually, it's a man. The little girl, presumably his daughter, holds her hand, because it's still shaking. Maka grimly watches a different, shorter, man operate the wrecker that Frank had recommended over the phone, attempting to tow her car out of the ditch.

The Not-Woman, whose hair is a straw blonde that reaches passed his shoulders, quietly stands behind the girl.

"Are you sure you're not hurt," he asks, stoically, his breath seeping out into the cold night.

"Yes, thank you. And thanks again, for letting me use your phone." She squeezes the little girl's hand, which squeezes back reassuringly.

A small audience has gathered, filtered in from the neighborhood. They all look at her curiously- for she's standing in the street with pantyhose, a dusty skirt, and icing-smeared sweater. She doesn't even want to think what her hair looks like. And then she realizes the short man towing her car is Black Star. Opening the cab door of the tow truck, the interior lights reveal his blue mop of hair.

Eventually, Black Star wrestles her car out of the ditch, and chains it securely to the bed of the tow truck. He walks up to her, fishing a card out of his pocket, and looks at her. And then _really_ looks at her.

"Tsubaki's-Friend?"  
"Maka. Yes."  
"Wow. Small world. How'd you manage to bust a tie-rod?"  
"I don't know. I don't even know what a tie-rod is."  
"I'm sure Soul would tell you- Oh _man_, aren't you supposed to be...?"

Maka slams her eyes shut, not wanting to think about how _that_ conversation is going to go, later. "You knew about the date?"

"He's probably having a _seizure_ right now. But yeah, he wouldn't shut up about it, wondering when to ask you and blah blah blah. I'm glad you finally accepted, so I can f-," he starts to swear, but stumbles over it when he sees the small girl standing next to her, "-flaffin' sleep at night."

She doesn't bother correcting him and telling him that Soul has no idea one way or the other if she had accepted his invitation or not. For all she knows, he could be still waiting in a parking lot, somewhere. Or back home, except she still has his apartment key.

_God, what if he gets mugged again..._

"Mister, why is your hair blue?"  
"It's because I'm a superstar. It looks cool, doesn't it?"

The taller man motions for his daughter after she happily nods, so Maka waves goodbye to them both, thanking them again.

"Well-come," the little girl says. "Bye super-star!"

"...Do you need a ride anywhere?" Black Star asks, still waving to his tiny fan. "I can drop you off someplace before I take your car to... where do ya want it, anyway?"

"Stein's Auto Shop," she hears herself say, though she's pretty positive there's not much that can be done with the twisted, awkward-looking thing that used to be her car perched on the back of his wrecker.

"And a ride? Or is someone comin' to get ya?"

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Then, she hears a roaring engine.

"'Bout time," Black Star says, handing her his company card and turning away with a wave. "I don't wanna get in the middle of this mush-fest. Say 'hi' for me."

She doesn't have time to ask what he means. The crowd begins to dwindle, and Maka gapes while a cleaned-up Soul Eater Evans trots over to her from where he's parked his motorcycle, which gleams in the lights given off by multiple bedroom windows.

"You finished it," she breathes. He doesn't seem to share her awe and enthusiasm. His hands hover by her arms, and shoulders, and face.

"Jesus Christ! Are you okay? Why aren't you on an ambulance?"  
"What? But I'm fine. What are you doing here? How'd you know I'd be here?"  
"You're bleeding! I payphoned the motel, and Sid-somebody said that Stein called and said you'd been wrecked and left a message for me 'cause- _You are not fine. How can you be fine?"_

She smiles at the thought of Stein doing sneaky, guardian-like things, and knowing his mechanic well enough to figure things out on his own. She silently promises to bake him cookies- maybe even attempt cupcakes again.

Maka focuses on Soul's worried face, which is somewhat comical with his riding goggles haphazardly pushed to his hairline and making tufts of white stick out in random angles. She casually waves to Black Star as he tows Deathtrap away. Soul is completely oblivious to his friend's existence.

"Maka, seriously, we should call an ambulance or something," he grits out, a hand gingerly touching the side of her mouth- which she realizes is cold and wet. Her hand jerks up and feels her face. Looks at her fingers, which come back stained in dark crimson.

She laughs. "It's just icing, Soul."

He looks bewildered when her tongue darts out to taste her finger, and then the corner of her mouth. She elaborates, "You wanted them, so I baked some more. But then the tie-rod? Whatever that is, somehow snapped, and I wrecked, and your cookies went flying... I guess you were right about my car. I have no idea how I'm gonna go to work tomorrow-"

And his mouth is on hers, his lips cold, but then going warm as they mingle and taste.

"I'm twenty-four," he says, a few moments later. "...Is that a problem, for you?"

"I don't kiss old guys," she mumbles, and stands on her toes- which complain from the rough gravel through her panty hose, but she gives exactly zero amounts of crap as he bends a little to meet her halfway.

* * *

**CRACK OMAKE:**

On Easter Sunday, she takes the chocolate cupcakes out of the side compartment of his motorcycle. However, as she and Soul walk across the small lot, she finds that Spirit Albarn has already beat her to the headstone- presently laying a bundle of pastel-colored daisies at the foot of it.

They walk past Medusa Gorgon, who happens to be sitting nonchalantly on the front bumper of Spirit's car, at a respectful distance. She catches Maka openly gawking at her. The woman's eyes narrow, and one leg crosses over the other, defensively.

"Got a problem?"

* * *

GROAN.

End.


End file.
